


Twas the Night Before Christmas

by Riverdalerider99



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Season/Series 08, can be wincest if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riverdalerider99/pseuds/Riverdalerider99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean sees how hard Sam is working, and knows that with the added pressure of the Trials he needs a break. After all, it's Christmas eve. Set sometime soon after the second Trial.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twas the Night Before Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bitter Sam Girls Club Secret Santa fic exchange for dreamysams on tumblr. Merry Christmas!
> 
> This is only my second time writing spn fic, and what was originally supposed to be a lot of cuddling turned into meaningless dialogue and even less plot then I had planned. Oh well. Not beta'd, so all mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

Dean stood in the doorway of the Bunker library, watching Sam work. Or rather, watching Sam’s valiant attempts at hiding the effects of the Trials from him. Dean sighed and shifted. He had been standing there for the past ten minutes, but Sam gave no sign he even knew there was someone else in the room.

Now that Dean could see his brother when he wasn’t trying to man up and hide his symptoms, he found himself shocked at how terrible Sam looked. There were dark circles around his eyes, and he had stifled too many coughs into his elbow in the time Dean had been there alone. Dean just wanted to bundle Sam off to bed and keep him there until they could figure out how to stop these damn Trials, but he knew Sam would never agree. Besides, Dean grudgingly admitted to himself that if he had to do the research himself, he would have no idea where to start. Sam was the real Man of Letters.

No, this would have to be handled much more delicately, Dean decided. Silently, he crept back into the hallway, before retracing his steps to the doorway with much more force. When Sam came back into view, Dean noted how much better he looked. He had straightened up in his seat and wiped the exhausted expression off of his face. Now he looked more like he hadn’t slept, not like his internal organs were being screwed up to hell and back.

Dean sighed. He wished Sam would be honest about his health. Didn’t he deserve that at least? No matter how many times he asked Sam to just talk to him--He stopped his thought before they got any farther. He wanted to make Sam feel better, not yell at him. Dean looked up to see Sam staring at him. 

“What?” Sam demanded, and Dean realized he’d been loud on purpose to attract Sam’s attention, and then stood there for too long, managing to do the exact thing he’d been trying to avoid.

“Nothing. Just wanted to let you know I’m headin’ to town. Want anything?”

Sam squinted at him, like he was trying to figure out if Dean was playing a trick on him. “Nah, I’m fine. Just gonna keep working.”

Dean shrugged and turned around. He’d known that would be Sam’s answer, which was the only reason he’d bothered asking. He had plans that Sam didn’t need to know about.

When Dean came back, arms laden with bags and nose pink from the cold December air, he found Sam in almost exactly the same place he’d been, looking even worse (Dean faintly wondered if that was possible). 

“Hey Sammy, I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

“What? Yeah, whatever Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the response. Sam probably hadn’t even registered what he’d said, too absorbed in his musty old books. Walking into the kitchen, he dumped his load onto the table.

He grabbed the recipe book he’d set aside and flipped it open, making sure he had everything he needed. Dean carefully measured out ingredients and mixed them together, letting himself get lost in the process.

Once the gingerbread cookies were in the oven, baking away, Dean turned to that bag he’d left alone, the one that didn’t hold foodstuff. Picking it up, he dumped its contents onto a table. Boxes of colored Christmas tree lights spilled out.

Considering his haul, Dean admitted to himself that he might have gone overboard. He shrugged. When it came to Christmas, there really was no too far. Besides, it wasn’t like the Bunker had any natural light. 

Dean buckled down and got to work, stringing the lights up in the kitchen. When every available surface was adorned, he moved on, putting up lights in both his and Sam’s rooms. As he finished up, Dean smiled to himself. They hadn’t celebrated Christmas in a long time, and it was about time. He took the cookies out of the oven, carefully leaving them out to cool before going back into the library.

“Sam.” Dean rolled his eyes when Sam didn’t respond. Snapping his fingers in front of his brother’s face, Dean raised his voice a little. “Sam!”

“Huh? M’working Dean.”

Dean tried not to sigh as he looked at Sam. Not too long ago, Sam would’ve sensed the moment he came into the room, his hunter’s instincts kicking in. Now, he barely even noticed Dean, reflexed dulled by whatever was turning his insides into dust.

“I’ve got food in the kitchen.”

“Not hungry.”

“You’re running on empty, Sam. At least let me feed you.”

Dean tried to make his face as open as possible as Sam squinted up at him. Finally, Sam groaned in defeat and stood up, swaying. Dean caught him before he could fall back, steadying him.

“I’m fine, Dean!” Sam threw off his arm in exasperation, and Dean pulled away and kept himself from retorting. It was Operation Cheer Up Sam, not Operation Yell at Sam. He turned around and walked back to the kitchen, slowing his pace so Sam wouldn’t have to push himself. Dean grinned in anticipation of Sam’s reaction. But when he saw Sam, the smile slipped off his face. Sam was just standing there.

“Dean, what? Why did you put up Christmas decorations?”

“Sam, it’s Christmas eve. I figured we could put up some lights, eat some cookies, the whole shebang.”

“It’s Christmas eve?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You know, some of us actually pay attention to the date.”

“Shut up.” 

Dean cheered internally as reluctant smile appeared on Sam’s face. It had been a long time since he’d seen Sam look anything other than tired and sick. Placing the tiny gingerbread people on the table, Dean sat down at the table and promptly bit off one of their heads. Sam shook his head and sat across from him, taking a cookie of his own and nibbling at its feet.

“Come on, Sam. Why would you eat his feet first? You’re just causing him unnecessary pain.”

“Well maybe I don’t want to behead the poor guy.”

“Oh, so you’re just gonna eat him from the bottom up so he can watch as you devour everything but his head.”

“Dean, you do realize they’re cookies, right? They don’t actually have feelings.”

“Wow, way to ruin it Sammy.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, until Dean glanced at Sam and noticed that he was shivering slightly, a fever flush riding high on his cheekbones. Not for the first time, Dean wished Sam was just the normal kind of sick. That, he knew how to deal with, but the Trials? He was way out of his depth.

Dean stood up abruptly. He might not know how to fix the Trials, but he knew how to take care of Sam.

“Dude, what?” 

“C’mon, we should watch a movie.”

“Why?”

“Why do you need an excuse to watch something? Because it’s almost Christmas and you’ve been working your ass off.”

Sam considered him briefly. “Fine, but I get to pick.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They started at each other for a second, before Dean yanked Sam up by his arm and dragged him to his room. As they walked, Dean found himself thankful that Sam hadn’t taken much convincing. Dean watched him carefully as they entered his room, judging his reaction to the lights he’d strung up. Sam’s face shifted from confusion to annoyance to gratitude so quickly Dean almost missed it. 

“Dean, this is… really great.”

“Don’t go getting sappy on me, Sammy. Go pick a damn movie already.”

Dean plopped down on Sam’s bed as he waited for Sam to grab a DVD from their growing collection, wincing slightly at the terrible mattress. Sam’s room was neat as always, the blankets tucked into the bed with military precision. He noted the duffle bag in the corner and the dusty drawers, realizing with a jolt that Sam never even unpacked. Shaking his head sadly, he pretended nothing was wrong as Sam turned around, movie in hand.

He snatched the disc out of Sam’s hand before he could put it into their TV, turning it over so he could see the front.

“ _Die Hard._ I approve.” Dean pushed the DVD into Sam’s chest, remembering what had happened last time he’d thrown something at his Trials-stricken brother. There was still a dark brown stain on the floor from where the beer had smashed.

Once Sam had put the movie on, Dean moved over and patted the space on the bed next to him. Sam lowered himself down carefully, propping himself up on a pillow before navigating the menu screen and clicking “play”. They started out the movie with a good foot of space between them, but as gunshots and frantic voices filled the room, the gap slowly closed. Dean leaned back against the headboard, curving towards Sam. Taking a moment to watch his brother, he noticed Sam’s head beginning to droop as he began to lose his battle with exhaustion. 

Dean shook his head at his brother’s stubbornness and casually let his arm wrap around Sam, pulling until he was resting on Dean’s chest. Staying true to his inner octopus, Sam immediately wrapped an arm and a leg over him. Dean rolled his eyes and reached up to smooth Sam’s hair away from his face, letting his fingers slowly massage his scalp. Sam shifted, wriggling even closer.

Sam was a furnace against Dean, and part of him thought maybe he should try and lower Sam’s fever, but he looked peaceful and relaxed in a way Dean hadn’t seen in a long time, and he left Sam alone. There wasn’t anything he could really do to make the fever go away, so as long as it didn’t get to high Dean was willing to ignore it. He didn’t think it was worth disturbing his brother.

Dean divided his attention between Die Hard and his brother, but Sam never stirred. The digital clock under the tv turned over to 12:00, and Dean pressed his face to the top of Sam’s head.

“Merry Christmas, Sam.”


End file.
